


weight

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blindfolds, Cock & Ball Torture, Come Eating, Crushing, Daddy Kink, Daddy Will Graham, Dark Will Graham, Dom Will Graham, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Fake Genital Mutilation, Gags, Hand Jobs, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painplay, Praise Kink, Punishment, Sadism, Sub Hannibal Lecter, Temperature Play, Will Graham Knows, weights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 02:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18273551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: Will is cruel, and Hannibal hasn't seen enough of his wrath to know what the limits are – he is unpredictable, and Will made damn sure Hannibal knew that very little would be past him.





	weight

Will enters the room, smiling when he sees that Hannibal has, according to his instructions, not moved an inch. Of course, given how Will bound him before he left, he doesn't have a lot of choice. There is a sheen of sweat on him, muscles locked and loaded and trying to keep steady. He is bound on a high-rise table, so he's level with Will's waist when Will approaches him. Blindfolded, gagged with an upturned glass of milky liquid – water and Will's come, which he knows sours the taste – and a funnel that threatens to choke him around every inhale, and explicit instructions not to let any water spill.

The water level hasn't moved, and Will's smile widens. He approaches on silent feet, knowing Hannibal can hear him no matter how quiet he tries to be. On Hannibal's chest is a small board, just as wide as his shoulders, and atop it is a series of heavy weights, crushing him to the table. A similar setup lines his stomach, his thighs, his hands and feet. He cannot move, must simply let himself be crushed and held under the press of metal and wood.

Hannibal sucks in a breath as he approaches, and Will can see his tongue at the bottom of the funnel, keeping it stoppered.

He pets a hand through Hannibal's sweaty hair, shushing him when he whines. "I'm going to free your mouth," he says. "Some water might spill – you may drink it, if you like."

Hannibal, of course, gives no answer, and Will carefully slides his fingers into his mouth, making his lips spread, showing his teeth clamped tight around the funnel's end. He pushes his forefinger against Hannibal's tongue, stopping the trickle of water when Hannibal curls his tongue back, and Will smiles as, instead, Hannibal licks over his knuckles.

He pulls the funnel out, corrects the glass, and sets it to one side. Watches the displacement of air as it bubbles to the top, the water level just as high as when he'd first placed the makeshift gag.

Hannibal's mouth is plush and wet, pink from Will's kisses and then his own trembling arousal as Will had bound and weighed him. Around his neck are more, slung between a strip of silken cloth. Will approaches his head, stands above him, and nudges the hanging weights with his knee. Watches as Hannibal stiffens, fighting the urge to move and save his neck.

He is a capable predator, a deadly hunter, but he lets Will choke him. Lets Will gag him, and obeys Will when he tells Hannibal not to move. To deny him something so simple as water on his tongue.

Will smiles, and nudges the weights again, watching them swing to and fro as Hannibal's neck bulges and his jaw goes tight.

He leans down, brushes his lips feather-light on Hannibal's sweaty temple, and whispers; "I'll let you drink, if you ask nicely."

Though the blindfold hides his eyes, Will knows Hannibal's are narrowed, glaring up at him from behind black fabric. His upper lip curls, and he says nothing. Will sighs. "Very well."

He moves away, not pausing even when Hannibal gives a plaintive cry, and climbs onto the table, which is wide enough for him to settle comfortably in the space he left between the boards on Hannibal's stomach and the ones on his thighs. Naked as he is, his cock is exposed for Will's eyes and hands, and Will grips him too-tightly, tugs his flaccid cock as long as it will go when not aroused, and smiles when Hannibal hisses.

"If you're not going to behave, then I have no use for you," Will says crisply. He has brought with him a cup of ice, in which is buried a single metal spoon, the handle sticking out. He sets it by Hannibal's hip, far enough away that his skin doesn't catch the chill. "I've given you several warnings, and you have ignored all of them."

Hannibal whines again, and gives a minute shake of his head.

Will growls, and climbs off him, goes to the side table on which there are more weights, some small enough to hang and others large enough to add to the multitudes already bearing down on Hannibal's body. He wraps one small weight in another strip of cloth and brings it to the table. A second, he ties the same way, and sets it by his brother.

"I thought maybe your petulance was something that could be trained out of you," he adds, talking to himself mostly, but only in that he knows Hannibal is listening very intently. "You have an excess of this perception of free will – you think you can move and act without consequence, even with me."

Hannibal's jaw bulges, and Will smiles, and grabs a very large, heavy weight, that looks and feels more like a cinderblock than something someone might use to work out. It is large, and has a hole in the middle, and Will brings it to Hannibal's head, grabs his chin and forces him to lean to one side, so his cheek is pressed to the table.

"Hold still," he commands, and carefully lays the weight on his head. Watches it settle, watches Hannibal's entire body lock and shiver at the cold metal and the heavy, crushing weight. The hole he angles so it is around Hannibal's ear. He wants Hannibal to hear everything.

He pauses only long enough to make sure he's not causing any legitimate pain, and then moves away, tugging harshly on the weights around Hannibal's neck as he goes, and then approaches the two he set down. Each is tied to one end of cloth, the other hanging free.

"If you're not going to behave, even to please me, I see no reason you should keep the things that please you," Will says with an arched brow, watching Hannibal shiver just from his tone. Still, his cock is twitching, threatening to rise – he has made it no secret he adores Will's cruelty.

But his adoration will be his downfall. Will smiles, and wraps one end of a strip below the head of his cock. Tugs it savagely, until Hannibal snarls and tries to arch, chasing the sensation and relieving the tug. Will guides the weight up his chest, and lets it hang over the mound sitting there, so that Hannibal's cock is forced upwards, stretched and pale, too abused to thicken. The second strip, he takes, and ties the free end around his balls, looping them into a quick knot and tightening until they bulge, dark red and darkening further when Will cups them, rubbing his thumb between them.

Hannibal groans, his fingers flexing beneath the boards sitting on his hands, but does not speak.

Then, Will takes the second weight, and draws it to the end of the table. Lets it drop, so that when it meets its endpoint, it yanks on Hannibal's balls with a severe tug.

 _That_ draws a reaction. Hannibal seizes, grunting in pain, his shoulders tensed and neck flexing as he swallows, and grits his teeth. Will can see his jaw under the edge of the weight, and with his blindfold on there's no hope of seeing his eyes.

He smiles. "Something you'd like to say, baby?" he purrs, rubbing gently at the mean cut of the cloth around Hannibal's balls. Hannibal makes another weak, desperate sound, hips and belly flexing as he tries to fight the weights pressing his body down. Will watches, eyes the subtle rise of his chest as he tries to breathe, knowing after so long it's getting difficult. His lungs are weary, he was robbed of the ability to breathe through his mouth for a long while, and with the weights around his neck threatening to choke his trachea, he's likely dizzy with oxygen deprivation, thirsty and desperate for relief.

Still, he is silent.

Will sighs. "Alright, baby, I'm sorry to have to do this," he says with false sympathy, petting Hannibal's hip before he takes the cup in one hand, and the spoon in the other. He sets the cup down, testing the coldness of the metal with the edge of his thumb, and smiles. It will burn, it will hurt.

It will feel like a knife.

He pinches the foreskin of Hannibal's cock, drags the edge of the spoon down the underside. Hannibal shivers, and this time he makes a very loud, frantic sound, and Will doesn't know if he's trying to shake his head, trying to fight the weights around his neck and heavy on his body, but he can't move. Will made sure of that.

"I don't need your little cock, darlin'," he drawls, watching as Hannibal trembles, and though his nose is not as sensitive as Hannibal's, he thinks he can taste the fear emanating from him. Will is cruel, and Hannibal hasn't seen enough of his wrath to know what the limits are – he is unpredictable, and Will made damn sure Hannibal knew that very little would be past him.

He takes the spoon away, puts it back in the ice so it's razor-cold, and touches gently at the strip of cloth around Hannibal's balls.

"Are you going to be good?" he asks.

Hannibal whimpers, and yet is still silent. Always curious. His curiosity will damn him one day.

So Will sighs. "Alright then," he murmurs, and grabs the spoon, yanks on the weight pulling Hannibal's balls down, and drags the edge in a quick 'cut' right along the base.

Hannibal seizes, spasming with panic and the anticipation of pain, the gush of blood. Will spits on his fingers and drags them around the base of his cock, mimicking the sensation of blood flow as if he had really cut him. Smiles, when Hannibal whimpers and shrieks, his body surging with a prey-animal strength that is desperate to save himself from such a terrible wound.

He lifts Hannibal's balls, and cups the spoon below them, letting him feel the chill. Hannibal trembles, and gives a single, weak moan, and says; "I'm sorry, daddy."

Will's brow arches, and he presses the spoon harder, letting Hannibal feel that it's not a knife, it's far too blunt. He was never in any real danger. "Louder," he demands.

"I'm sorry, daddy," Hannibal says again, more fiercely. He is still shivering in great rolls of his body, his fingers flexing as much as they can, his breathing shallow and labored. Will hums, and drags his wet fingers up his cock, soothing him with soft touches as Hannibal recovers. Can feel the thrum of his racing heart when he touches Hannibal's belly. "I'll be good, I promise."

He sounds soft, high-pitched. Young, and desperate. Will smiles, and leans down, unwrapping the strip of cloth from around the head of his cock, and kisses the pink mark it left behind.

"Good boy," he purrs. "I knew you'd see things my way."

Hannibal is still on the verge of panic: Will can see it, and knows he has only a little time before Hannibal's panic turns to the urge to retaliate. He removes the spoon and sets it on the side table, and then goes to his head, removing the heavy weight from it. Hannibal's cheek bears an indent from the ribbed side of the piece.

He leans down, cups Hannibal's face and corrects him, so he's facing up. Kisses, gently, the center of his sweaty forehead.

"You're alright, baby," he whispers, petting Hannibal's flushed cheeks, his clammy skin; his tense jaw and sweaty hair. "It's alright. Daddy's got you. You know I'd never really hurt my sweet boy, right?"

Hannibal swallows, nostrils flared wide. He tips his head back as if he might be able to see Will through the blindfold.

"But you have to understand, baby – when you act out like that, you're not my sweet boy." He pauses, watches Hannibal's tongue snake out to wet his dry, red lips. Wants to kiss him, but; "You understand, don't you? Good boys get treated well by their daddies, but little terrors who act out and misbehave get punished."

Hannibal swallows, and gives a single nod. "I'm sorry, daddy. I'll be good."

Will smiles. "I know, baby," he purrs, and kisses Hannibal again in reward. Moves, so he can cup Hannibal's cheek, and kiss the bridge of his nose, above the blindfold. Smiles wider when Hannibal arches, seeking a real kiss.

"I gotta get these weights off you, baby," he says, petting his thumb over Hannibal's lower lip. Oh, it's aching for a bite, for another soft kiss. But Will denies him, for now. "You'll be nice and patient while I do that, right?"

Hannibal nods again, still trembling, and Will hums, and starts to unwind the coil of cloth from around his neck. He takes his time, freeing Hannibal's feet, first. Then his thighs, placing the weights on the side table and the boards stacked at an angle against it. Then, his hands, and his stomach. Hannibal remains unmoving through all of it, until Will frees his chest, at last, placing the last board with its brothers.

Will sighs, petting over Hannibal's strong chest, feels it tender, muscle aching from withstanding so much pressure for so long. Hannibal's first free breath is huge and cavernous, and with his exhale, he holds another shredded, raw sound of relief.

Will frees his balls, last, noting with a grin that Hannibal is hardening now, now that he's sure Will means him no real harm. Will ignores it for now, and goes to Hannibal's head.

Leans down and kisses him, chastely, on the cheek, petting through his sweat-damp hair. "Is there something you wanna ask me, baby?"

Hannibal whines. "Please, daddy, kiss me."

Will smiles. "Where?"

Hannibal rolls onto his side, trembling and lethargic, and touches his own mouth. "Here. Please?"

"Of course, baby," Will says, and cups Hannibal's jaw, lifting him onto a tired, shaking arm, and kisses him deeply. Hannibal's lips part immediately, the inside of his mouth dry and warm, and Will kisses him, sliding his tongue in to share water and air. So long denied either, Hannibal is ravenous for both. "Good boy – you did so good for asking. You know I'd never deny you anything if you ask for it."

Unspoken; _properly, of course._

Hannibal nods again, wets his lips, and stares, blind, up at Will.

"Can I see you, daddy?" he rasps, like he's been screaming this whole time. Maybe he has, somewhere deep in the mind palace he retreats to when he's trying to stay strong in his disobedience. "I'd like to see you."

Will sighs, and kisses Hannibal's jaw as he works the blindfold off his head. The material is damp with sweat, and he lets it drop to the floor to clean up later. Hannibal's lashes flutter, his eyes crystal, gold and brown and that hint of red that makes him look dangerous. Their eyes meet, water and cliffs, and Hannibal flattens a trembling hand on Will's chest.

Breathes out, heavily, and lets Will hold his cheek up as his neck gives out. "Thank you," he murmurs. His head turns, nuzzling Will's wrist. He kisses there, lax and chaste, and sighs again in something too fierce to be pure relief.

"I'm so proud of you, baby," Will murmurs, petting through his hair again, cupping his nails into Hannibal's nape as Hannibal shivers. "You took your punishment so well." Hannibal lashes dip, then flare wide, so he can see Will fully. "I don't like being mean to you."

Hannibal's lips twitch at the corners, because they both know that's not quite true.

"Come here, my sweet boy," Will says, coaxing him to sit upright. Hannibal's flesh is a mess of twitches and spasms, blood flow returning to abused and broken muscle, and he lets Will coax him into standing, but stands hunched, fingers and feet flexing as he tries to get himself upright. Will embraces him, and guides him to the single chair in this room, sitting down and pulling Hannibal into his lap, spread out across his thighs.

"Good boy," he purrs, as Hannibal sags and shivers against him, letting out a weak noise as Will pets up and down his back. Hannibal arches to him, nosing needy and warm at Will's neck, his breathing heavy as he tries to get his lungs to remember how to expand.

Will smiles, eyes at half-mast as Hannibal shifts his weight, pressing close to him. Shivers, when his cock meets Will's stomach, the scent of Will and his warmth triggering him to thicken and harden; Pavlovian, as Will made sure it was. He runs his hands to Hannibal's hips, digs in with his nails, encouraging him to grind.

"You've made me very happy, baby," he says, as Hannibal's breathing turns shaky again, his hands clenched on the high armrests of the wide chair as he digs in with his knees, seeking more friction against Will's t-shirt. Hannibal moans, straightens and tips his head back when Will spits on his fingers and wraps a hand around his sore, abused cock. "That's it, good boy, let daddy make you feel good."

Hannibal's face is tense, lines tight and deep around his eyes and mouth – resistance, perhaps, or simply trying to chase the threads of pleasure through the aches on his body. He looks flat, crushed, broken at the bone, as Will strokes him and guides him into a heavy, grinding rhythm into his hand.

Hannibal whimpers, shows his teeth, and Will regards him with an arched brow. "You wanna come, sweetheart?" he asks, and Hannibal growls, and nods. "You know what you gotta do if you want that."

Hannibal slows, grinds to a halt. Fixes Will with a dark, dark look.

Breathes in, fingers flexing, and whispers, "Can I come, daddy?"

Will smiles, wide and warm, and says, "Of course, baby." He tightens his hand as Hannibal collapses on himself, noses at Will's cheek, asking for a kiss. But he didn't ask properly, so Will denies him – turns his head and shows his neck, knowing Hannibal knows better than to bite without permission too.

Hannibal huffs; an aggravated and beaten sound, but doesn't protest further. He is a gluttonous creature, and would rather try Will's patience when his own pleasure isn't on the line. Will sighs, wrapping his free hand in Hannibal's nape, squeezing tightly as Hannibal fucks into his fist, snarling as he brings himself closer to orgasm.

It comes like a shockwave, a fierce tremble that starts in his feet, moves up his thighs so they tighten and clench around Will. Down his arms, to his shaking hands, and finally his face, as his expression goes lax, he tips his head forward to rest on Will's shoulder, and he comes with a ragged, sated groan over Will's fingers and stomach.

He sags with another rough noise, pawing at Will's neck, and Will smiles when he pulls back, breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed and his eyes shining, bright as though lit from within.

Hannibal smiles, and lowers his lashes. "Thank you, daddy."

"It was my pleasure, sweet boy," Will murmurs, and lifts his dirty hand to his own mouth, licking his fingers clean. He wraps his arms around Hannibal, tugging him close, needing now to simply feel him. His own arousal burns in the back of his head, and will be addressed when Hannibal is feeling a little more like himself, but for now he simply wants to bask in Hannibal's warmth, under his weight, crushed in return.

Hannibal shifts, and melts against him with another sigh. He nudges his nose against Will's jaw, curls his fingers in Will's hair and idly plays with it, curling a lock around Will's ear. "May I kiss you, daddy?" he whispers.

Will smiles, and turns his head, cupping his warm cheek. "Of course, baby," he replies, and meets him when Hannibal leans in. He can never deny his sweet boy anything, after all, not when he asks properly.


End file.
